Thoroughly Modern Woman
by Razzaroo
Summary: Train Heartnet has a new neighbour. She at least proves more interesting than Sundays. 1920s AU.


**A/N. And I continue my 1920s AU. Sort of. Here's more of it anyway. **

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><p>Train didn't know what to think of this woman who Sven had invited over. He knew that she was a new neighbour in the apartment building and, looking at her, he could give an educated guess that she came from a family with money. She seemed fond enough of kids, considering how she'd cooed over Eve. However, Train was biased against her; Sven hadn't told him that she'd been invited over and so he'd ended up answering the door in his shirtsleeves, barefoot, his hair untidy.<p>

This wouldn't have been a problem until she laughed and told him she'd expected a more stellar welcome.

Sven was sitting with her in the living room and Train could hear the murmur of their voices. Train was lurking in the kitchen with Eve, who sat at the kitchen tabled and pored over the daily newspaper. Train sat across from her, a large bowl in front of him, shelling peas to pass the time. He certainly hoped that Sven wouldn't mind peas for dinner.

Train?" Eve said, prodding his elbow with a pen to catch his attention, "Speakeasies; did you ever work in one?"

"Eh," Train scratched the back of his neck, "No, not personally. I know where you can find one, though. Don't think Svenny-baby would approve of me taking you though."

"Was it this one?" Eve held the paper up to him. The headline declared another raid by police had been a success in shutting down a speakeasy and stopping a supply of bootleg booze.

"Don't think so," he replied, going back to shelling peas into the bowl, "Doesn't look like it. Why?"

Eve set the paper down again, "Just curious."

Train dropped the empty pod onto the pile next to the bowl and groaned, burying his face in his arms. Sundays could be so boring; Sven refused to open the shop and the only thing to look forward to was church. It was hardly what he'd call stimulating. He was tempted to fall asleep, even knowing that sleeping on the table would wreak havoc on his neck and shoulders.

He pushed away from the table, the chair legs scraping the kitchen floor, and stood up, pulling his braces back up over his shoulders. Eve didn't even look up as he picked up his mug of cold tea and headed towards the living room.

Sven had cracked open one of the windows to let out the cigarette smoke; the living room was the only room in the flat that he smoked in. Sven himself was reclining in his armchair, cigarette in hand, for once without his hat. His missing eye was still covered by a dark eye patch, which made him look more roguish than he would have liked.

The first thing that he noticed about their guest was her legs. Long and lean, one was crossed over the other and her foot was bobbing at the air. He followed her legs, up past the hem of her dress and to her face, one eyebrow raised.

"Girls these days," Train said, leaning against the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Ankles _and _knees on display."

She grinned, "I've seen your elbows."

"Not quite so scandalous, you know," Train caught a glimpse of Sven's annoyed expression, "Am I interrupting, Svenny-baby?"

"Yes," Sven said, taking a drag on his cigarette, "When I was your age, we didn't just walk into other people's conversations."

"Back when you were my age," Train said, picking at one of his nails, "I don't think people really had conversations."

Sven just rolled his eye and snuffed out his cigarette before picking up the teapot and leaving for the kitchen. Train took over the armchair in an instant, stretching his legs out in front of him and wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell of tobacco.

"So," he said, twirling Sven's matchbox in his fingers, "Where have you come from?"

"Your landlady's letting me board with her. She's one of those empty nesters."

"Don't doubt it."

Her eyes bunched slightly as she smiled, "Bet we'll be seeing more of each other then."

"Sure thing."

Train flipped a match out of the box, rolling it between his fingers. While he did tease Sven over using matches rather than something more modern, matches at least gave him something to do with his hands other than flicking a flame on and off. He felt eyes watching him and he looked up to meet the woman's gaze.

"I didn't catch your name," he said, his tone imitating the overly polite way his father had used to speak to people on the train.

"Didn't throw it," seeing his irritated expression, she rolled her eyes, "Rinslet Walker."

"Not so hard, was it?"

"Oh, go chase yourself."

Train arranged his face into an expression of mock hurt, "But this is my flat."

"It's not actually," Rinslet sniffed, "Your name ain't on the deeds." She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and then out of the window, "Would you look at the time? I better get a wiggle on."

She stood up and adjusted her hat, picking up her coat from where it was draped over the back of the chair. At the door, she turned and gave Train a winning smile, accompanied by a wriggle of her fingers in a small wave goodbye.

"See you later, baby," she said, opening the door, "Say bye to Sven for me, OK?"

"Sure," Train said, dropping the matchbox back onto the table, "Don't take any wooden nickels, bearcat."


End file.
